


aftermath

by madameofmusic



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Open Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 06:02:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11396787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madameofmusic/pseuds/madameofmusic
Summary: Jack and Kent meet up years later, and talk about what went wrong.





	aftermath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [immarcesibility](https://archiveofourown.org/users/immarcesibility/gifts).



> My prompter asked for Jack and Kent talking about their past, and then getting together. I hope I delivered well enough!

Kent’s sitting across from Jack Zimmermann at a diner, his back ramrod straight as he tries to figure out what the sweet _fuck_ is going on. He’d received a call from Jack earlier asking to talk, like everything they'd been through could be easily solved by a little _chat._

Kent hates the way Jack’s call makes him feel like all the hurt actually _could be_ resolved that easily, hates the way he wants everything to be the way it was in Juniors, when it was just ice, Jack, and him.

It can't be that way anymore. They've done too much to hurt one another, too many years of not talking. Kent knows this, after hours upon hours getting the same thing hammered into him by the team-mandated therapist, and the few team members he's told about what happened between him and Jack years ago.

"So." Jack's fingers tap a soft beat on the worn wood of the table. "I'm sorry." It's as blunt as ever, and unexpected. Kent came here expecting to be the one apologizing first, so he could have Jack back in his life.

"I should have told you I didn't feel the same way you did. I should have... done anything differently, really." Jack gives him a self-deprecating smile. "I've been working on that. I had... a boyfriend, a while back, who helped me figure out I have to talk to people so that they know what I want."

"Yeah, no shit Zimms." It's out of his mouth before he registers what he's said. Jack's face crumples a little, and he winces. "Fuck, sorry. That's not how I wanted to say that."

Jack shrugs. "It's warranted."

Kent shakes his head. "No, it's not." He looks around, anxious. There's only one other party in the diner, but even then he still feels watched. He doesn't want other people privy to his information, to be able to watch he and Jack sort out years and years of _shit._

"Can we go somewhere else, maybe?" They're in Montréal, near Jack's home. It's summer, no formal hockey to speak of. "Do your parents still own that rink?"

Jack frowns. "Don't you think it would be better if we sat down and did this?"

Kent doesn't even know what _this_ is, but he knows that even now, their shared language is skates on ice. They won't be able to have any sort of good conversation, any healing, over a dining table in the city. "Nah. I think it'll be better this way."

 

 

The rink is still in good shape. "I come here to practice when I'm home," Jack explains, unlocking the door.

Kent nods. "Cool." He doesn't have his skates with him, but Jack tells him that there are some extra pairs behind the counter in the lobby. What that really means is that even after all these years, Jack still has a pair of skates that fit him.

Kent doesn't want to think about what that does to the feeling in his gut, knowing that Jack has remnants of him, just like he has of Jack. It's not anything even close to the torch Kent held in the form of his own remnants _(an old photo album, the stick Jack signed when he said Kent needed something to remember him by on the day of the memorial cup, an old sweater-)..._ But, it's something.

Kent puts on the skates, laces them with an efficiency that comes from years and years of practice (more than two decades if he's counting right and isn't _that_ something to behold), and meets Jack on the rink.

They are quiet for a bit, the rink echoing breathing and the slick trills of metal on ice. And then-

"It wasn't your fault." Kent doesn't look Jack in the eye as he says this, choosing instead to line up a shot into the goal Jack had drug out from the back and try to sink it from halfway across the rink. "You always blame yourself for things that aren't your fault, and this one isn't all you."

Jack skates closer, pretending he can't hear Kent's words. They're quiet, but they're present. "Kent," Jack sighs, and then stops. "Keep talking."

Kent nods. "Thanks." He retrieves a puck and sets up another shot. "You could have called me, to tell me you were okay, so I didn't have to hear it from the news a week later, but that's..." He trails off, shrugs. "That's okay. I get it, now. I didn't then, and I acted like a tool because of it."

Jack's laugh is more bitter than not. "Yeah, well, we both did." Jack nudges him. "You still shoot funny," He says, nodding at Kent's stick, with a smirk.

Kent rolls his eyes. "Two Stanleys, and four Campbells, and you still say I shoot funny?" Kent nudges him back, knows they're deflecting but lets it happen anyway. "Maybe it's you who shoots funny, Zimmermann. Ever think about that?"

Jack skates behind him, wraps his frame around Kent's, and settles his hands where Kent's are. "Like this, champion." His voice is soft, warm, and he's breathing down Kent's neck, which any other day would set him off like a firecracker, but not today.

Something's different. He lets it happen. "Show me," he says.

Jack guides his hands, and they slide a puck into the net. It's intimate, and then it's too intimate, and Kent slips out from under Jack's arms.

Jack looks... not hurt, but confused. "Not yet." Kent's voice is barely a whisper. "We still have shit to work through."

Jack nods, and then pulls out a slip of paper from his shirt pocket, and hands it to Kent. "Here."

Kent looks down. "Your number?" Jack had called him from Bad Bob's phone and thus didn't have Kent's either.

Jack nods. "Yeah." He picks up the stray puck, but leaves the goal, and heads for the side of the rink. "I'm thinking same time next week?"

Kent follows him and pockets the number. He knows this conversation isn't over, but he knows that now they both seem to be in a better place than any time before this and that they're capable of talking like adults like they hadn't been before.

Jack's number weighs heavy in his pocket, but Kent is lighter than he'd been in years.

It feels like redemption, it feels like the exact opposite of everything from June of 2010 to this moment.

It feels like hope.


End file.
